Sunsets at Seaside(16)

She had to move. She was dangerously close to going further, to pulling his lips down her body…Stop. Stop. Stop.

She didn’t even know him. She blinked several times to try to get past the heat that blurred her vision, and she forced herself to push away from his chest.

There. Space between us. Good.

Not good. Bad. Very bad. She didn’t want that space. It didn’t feel good at all.

His lips parted in a sexy, easy smile that nearly had her falling into him again.

“I should…” She pointed toward her apartment.

He cupped her cheek. “Jessica, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Hopefully kissing you.” Her hand flew to her mouth, and she slammed her eyes shut. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. When he laughed, a deep, devastatingly masculine laugh, it drew her eyes open. “I’m sorry. I blame the tequila.”

“I’m buying a bottle tomorrow.”

The flirtatious glimmer in his eyes nearly did her in.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he repeated.

“Tomorrow. Um…I don’t know.” Her mind was a little clearer now, but her heart was still racing. She tried to remember what she was doing tomorrow. “I want to see if I can find out who won that auction.”

“I’m taking Vera to the flea market in the morning. Want to come with us? We can get to know each other better.”

Get to know each other better. Oh gosh. That drove reality home. They’d known each other only a day, and she’d hit him with her phone and mauled him like a ten-dollar hooker.

She suddenly felt very exposed. She realized she was practically sitting on top of him; her torso was stretched across his lap. She glanced at her legs—her dress was bunched up at the top of her thighs. She tugged at the hem and felt her cheeks flush.

He reached down and helped her right her dress. “I didn’t look. Don’t worry.”

She smiled. Everything about him was easy. He was easy to kiss—way too easy to kiss—easy to like, easy to touch, easy to be with.

She scooted off the bench and wobbled when she rose to her feet. He was beside her in a flash, with one strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other holding her hand.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m not a drinker. Or a…” Slut. Temptress. Oh my goodness, could you really think that about me? “A girl who kisses a guy she’s known less than a day.”

He smiled again. Darn that smile. It pulled one from her, too. She couldn’t even really be mad at herself for kissing him. Any woman in her right mind would have done the same. He was sweet, and hot, and hard bodied. Really hard bodied.

“It’s not your fault. I’m hard to resist.” His eyes brightened with the tease.

“That you are, Mr. Reed.” She took a step toward her place to keep from going up on her tiptoes and kissing him again.

“So, you claim you’re not a phone thrower or a kisser. What kind of girl are you?” His arm remained around her waist as they walked down the gravel road toward her apartment.

She shrugged. “I’m not really sure. That’s kind of why I took the summer off. To find out.”

“Well, even if we hadn’t kissed, I’d have still asked you out for tomorrow, just so you know. So whatever type of girl you are, I like her.” He moved behind her as they ascended the stairs toward her apartment. “What are you taking time off from?”

On the deck, she turned to face him, and for some reason her hands found his. This was so nice. She didn’t want it to get weird, and her world was a weird one, full of proper manners, proper attire, and odd hours, which were all reasons she wanted to experience being out of it. He was looking down at her expectantly. He must know at least something about the life she led, given his grandmother’s profession. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“I’m a musician.” There. Simple, no big discussion.

His brows drew together, like he didn’t quite believe her. Who was she kidding? She’d never believe the generic term musician. It wasn’t like she could pull off being a rock star or even a singer. She was far too reserved for either.

“I’m a cellist.” She couldn’t help but smile at the word. She loved it. Everything about it—from the way it sailed off her tongue and felt feminine and exotic to the beautiful music it represented—everything except the life it made her lead.

“A cellist.”

“Yes.”

Jamie shook his head. “Vera is going to love you, and I have a feeling I’m going to be left in the dust tomorrow. Maybe I need to rethink my position on this date.”